


Cold Autumn Wind

by Hafl



Category: Ise monogatari | Tales of Ise
Genre: Tanabata, attempt at poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hafl/pseuds/Hafl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunter lost alone in the forest finds shelter in the home of a lone woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Autumn Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lnhammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lnhammer/gifts).



Once a man found himself lost and separated from his party during a hunting trip. Wandering through the thicket, he called for others, but only the sounds of the birds and beasts answered him. By the time he gave up on trying to find his way back and accepted that he was utterly lost, the sun was setting. As the forest grew dark, the man was close to despair, but then he discovered a faint glimmer of light shining in the distance. Filled with newly found hope and vigour, he headed towards it, heedless of the branches and rough ground underneath him.

 

Before long, he saw that the light was that of a fire, burning bright in a simple, poor hut that was standing all alone in the forest. Peering inside, the man saw a young woman sitting beside the fire and visibly tired - a weaver woman, judging from the interior of the hut, and one of great skill. He hesitated for a few moments, not wishing to appear rude by intruding upon a completely unknown woman at such a late time. His hesitation was short-lived, as the night air was cold and the fire so very tempting and soon he entered with enough noise to let the woman know about him. When he stepped inside, the woman spoke in a melodious voice, "Is that you, my lord?"

 

The man did not have a chance to answer before she turned around and saw his figure. Her face was extraordinarily beautiful and refined, more suited to the court and the palace and quite a contrast against the common and humble surroundings. Even her hair were styled in a courtly way and not like a village woman's. Yet on the sight of him, who was said to be one of the most elegant and graceful men, disappointment had shown itself on her face. "You are not him," she said, "Then who are you?"

 

The man introduced himself and told her about the circumstances that brought him to her home, but the woman did not offer him any hospitality. The woman did not care that the hour was late and the moon high in the sky among the countless stars. She did nothing more than tell him the way to a road. Perhaps such crudity of manner was to be expected from country folk, but this woman was not just a simple and ignorant village woman. The man begged her to allow him to spend the night in the shelter of her hut and she soon assented to his request. There was little food, the woman was silent, and there was nowhere else for him to sleep but on some woven cloth spread on the hard ground, but the fire was warm and the exhausted man fell asleep quickly.

 

He was woken up from his slumber by the sound falling drops of water and a river rushing outside. Only few embers remained from the fire, but some moonlight had found its way through the clouds and he could see shining tears streaming down the woman's cheeks, falling down on the barren floor and her clothes. "He does not come. It is nearly dawn and he is not here," she said, then added:

 

> _ame naki yo_
> 
> _hito tamai sezu_
> 
> _owari tsutsu_
> 
> _akikaze gotoki_
> 
> _toshi samushi kana_

 

> _The dreary night_
> 
> _comes to an end_
> 
> _without his coming._
> 
> _Is this year as cold_
> 
> _as the autumn wind?_

 

A rough poem, but the man was touched nevertheless and although still half-asleep, he swiftly offered a reply:

 

> _asahikage_
> 
> _tsuki yori samushi_
> 
> _koi akina_
> 
> _akikaze taeru_
> 
> _utsukushi matsu yo_

 

> _The morning light_
> 
> _is colder than the moon._
> 
> _Don't grow weary of love,_
> 
> _o, beautiful pine_
> 
> _enduring the autumn wind!_

 

Too bold for such a melancholy occasion!

 

The woman looked at him and her sadness touched his heart and the two of them stayed up talking until the last hours of morning. When the man took his leave, the woman's sleeves were dried and she bade him goodbye without showing any sorrow.

 

He left the woman's house light-hearted and refreshed by his rest. Before heading away towards the road, he quenched his thirst with water from the river he had not noticed when he arrived in the dark. The water had such a pure taste that the river must had flowed down to this world from the high plain of Heaven. As he left the place, he thought about the woman's beauty, the river water, and the tranquil nature around, and he resolved to return to the hut soon, maybe even spend some days there, away from the busy affairs of the court.

 

His fellow hunters found him on the way to the road and were surprised to see him so well-rested after spending a night in the cold, wild woods. When the man told them his tale, they would not believe him. "No one lives in this forest," they said, "not even commoners and certainly no lady as beautiful as you described."

 

Happy that their lost friend had been found, the hunters hurried back to the capital city fearing that their late return would cause worry. In the palace, the man found out about an omen seen in the sky last night. Two stars which met every year on that very day had missed each other in the rain, but one of them was nevertheless shining bright, while the other's light was dim. Such an event was not recorded for many years, not even in the far lands of China. The court scholars argued about the event's significance, but the man remembered the woman and wished to see her again.

 

Before the day was over, the man set out to find the weaver woman and her hut again. Yet, even though he had searched for a day and night, he could not find the woman's hut again, nor he could find the river that woke him up on that night. Saddened, he returned to the court, determined to return to the same spot next year, but before the year was over, his memory of that night became a memory of a dream and the only thing he could remember clearly was the woman's melancholy poem and the sound of rushing water.


End file.
